It was a cold January morning in the High Desert of
Arizona. Just after sunrise I was walking downtown with my dog to start the
day. It is a ritual we kept for almost a decade.
At that hour, there usually are a few homeless folks
bundled up in blankets looking for the first rays of sunshine. They make
coffee, roll cigarettes, and say hello to passing dogs.
“I wished you can leave your dog with us on cold
nights,” one of them said while petting Ziggy. “He would keep me warm with his
thick coat.”
Half way around the Court House oval, I saw an older
man sitting on the bench with a pipe in his mouth, wearing a cowboy hat. He had
found his sunny spot and was watching passersby. I had not seen him before, and Ziggy
immediately went to check him out.
And to my surprise, he sat by the man.
“Good morning,” I said, “it is very rare that my dog
would sit down by a stranger.”
“Maybe I am not a stranger,” he replied after taking
the pipe out of his mouth. “You can sit down too, if you want.”
Since Ziggy had no intent to get on with his walk, I
did sit on the bench.
… He was in his seventies, I guessed. Smartly
dressed and an aura of comfort.
“I am visiting my daughter and it is my first
morning in Prescott.”
And he continued “Your dog is a large Akita, yes?”
I nodded.
“They are usually not friendly to strangers, I know.
But you two seem comfortable with the moment. That is good.”
I have always enjoyed such encounters. In the past
decades when I travelled the globe as a health care professional, most such
encounters were in airports, between two flights. Others when I was stuck for
10 or 20 hours in the plane seat with an interesting stranger next to me. I
often did not remember their names, but never forgot the conversations.
“I have been sitting here for a while and watching
dogs do their morning walks and business. They do mark every tree, fire hydrant
and parked car tires,” he continued without looking at me. “It seems to be both
a passage and a rite of passage.”
A rite of passage?
“Yes, just we all do. But our passage is marked by
leaving a bit of us in others,” he pondered.
My morning coffee had not yet cleared my mind, and I
did not feel like discussing philosophy. But since Ziggy seemed comfortable
listening to the man who was visiting his daughter, I asked:
“What if others do not want to receive and keep what
we leave in them?”
He put his pipe back in his mouth and looked at me
with a smile.
“That, you have no way to anticipate. But our
passage makes no sense without trying. It becomes imperceptibly sonorous.”
“Sonorous??”
This time he did not look at me:
“Check the dictionary – it is a beautiful thing.”
… Now even Ziggy was getting impatient – he got up,
looked at the man, and headed to the first tree on his left.
To leave his mark.
February 1, 2026
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2026
